Life Was Hard, But He Was Worth It
by DelicateInnocence
Summary: The obscenities and confessions just seem to gush out when Stan drinks. And tonight was no different. Includes boys love, vomit, Doritos and crackers. Rated M for the language.


Why was life so hard?

This question came up a lot when I was drinking and today was no fucking different. I had a problem. Hey, there's that first step, isn't admitting it supposed to bring about some sort of revelation? To be honest, I had a lot of problems, and I wasn't even sure which one I was admitting to above the others.

Problem one; my drinking. I can't even remember the last time I was actually sober for more than a full day, but then again, my mind was in no condition to be doing this remembering bullshit right now. It was my coping method and unfortunately it came with obscene amounts of blurred vision, stupid decisions and throwing up in the morning.

Problem two; my parents were getting divorced. Again. This wasn't surprising, honestly, but it didn't make it suck any less. My mom had been cheating on my dad, which also wasn't surprising because my dad's a fucking idiot, but when dad had found out they'd fought. And the neighbors had heard. Everyone had fucking heard.

And finally, the only other problem that mattered right now; I was in love.

I know what you're thinking. How is love a problem? Well, fuck you, not all love is perfect and happy and uplifting.

I was in love with the one who usually helps me through these drunk adventures. My heart ached for him and my mouth formed stupid fucking confessions that he never believed because...well, I was shitfaced almost ninety percent of the time he saw me. I got to see his worn out face and the dim look he gave me as he methodically went through the usual recovery routines and I knew I was making him miserable and it hurt even more until my heart felt like it was going to explode from loving and hating being around him so much. Oh, and he's a man. That wasn't exactly normal either.

I'd texted him about a half hour ago but my feet had totally disregarded the text and refused to stay at the bar and wait for him. Instead I was slumped outside of a corner store, holding onto a bag of chips I'd bought but had yet to open. I was hungry, but I knew I'd be throwing these up in the morning and they were Doritos. I'd be scared enough of the bucket I knew I'd find at my side, I really didn't need to see red and orange flecks in my vomit, making me believe I was actually throwing up blood.

It was cold outside. It was always cold in South Park. Why was I sitting on the concrete and not a bench? There was a bus stop around here somewhere. It had a bench...

A few attempts later, I was able to make it to my feet and I set about looking for this bus stop. I didn't get far. Slapping a hand down on a nearby trash can, I hurled up the last bits of my dinner and a fair amount of alcohol into the opening. The smell of trash didn't help at all and my stomach heaved upwards violently. Oh fuck.

The world spun and I gripped the trash can so hard my knuckles went white. Oh fuck oh fuck oh _fuck._

"Stan!"

I swear someone had implanted a GPS in me for this love of mine to track because he had somehow located me after my misguiding text.

I wanted to say his name; let him know I'd heard him, or something, but if I opened my mouth at all I knew I'd just throw up again. Breathing heavily through my nose, I tried to ignore the trash smell and calm down, but had to start all fucking over again when his hand on my back actually startled me and my body twitched all over.

"Stan, what are you doing here?"

I wordlessly held up the bag of Doritos and looked up at him involuntarily when he yanked them out of my hand. The world tilted like a ride at an amusement park, but I didn't hurl again and I'm sure he was thankful for that at least.

Red hair, stuffed hastily under a hood from a sweatshirt, green eyes looking at me with that cold disapproval, and jeans missing a belt and clearly just a little too big for his hips. This was Kyle Broflovski. This was the guy I cared so fucking much for. He was wearing his glasses and not his contacts which led me to believe I'd probably woken him up with my text. I felt bad for a second. And then I felt sick again.

Kyle rubbed circles on my back as I lurched back over the trash can and I knew he'd be looking pointedly at anywhere other than me. Kyle hated vomit. He hated a lot of things, actually, and I was probably one of them right now.

"Wait here." Kyle instructed and he disappeared from my side.

I gave a weak groan, which was supposed to be me saying "No, stay" but apparently I was too drunk to do coherent words. I caught a glimpse of him entering the corner store and noticed he was carrying a shoulder bag with him. Curiosity crept up, wondering what was in the bag, but the very small section of sober brain I had already knew.

Kyle always brought supplies with him now because after I'd thrown up in his bed a few months ago, he'd stopped bringing me back to his place to sleep off my hangover and insisted on taking me back to my house. There was, no doubt, a shit ton of medication and at least one box of crackers in there.

The door swung open again and Kyle emerged, carrying a can of something. I think it might have been Ginger Ale, but he didn't let me drink it. One hand settled at the back of my head and for a second I sincerely thought I was going to throw up again. I'm not sure why, but it just felt like an insane pressure on my head, even though I knew he was holding me lightly.

The other hand came up with the can in it to press to my forehead and the weird pressure was sort of gone. This wonderful cool seeped into my face and Kyle touched the can to both my cheeks and all around my neck before settling it back onto my forehead.

I moaned at the feeling, basking in the sudden relief from the heat the alcohol had filled me with. Kyle didn't speak for a minute, letting me just calm down and every so often he'd turn the can so I could get a bit of fresh cold before my forehead warmed up the whole can.

"Think you can move now?" Kyle asked, his voice soft. I could tell he still wasn't pleased with me, but Kyle was a mom type and helping others was what he was good at.

I didn't trust myself to move my head, but I reached up to take the can from him and control my own cooling process while trying to respond with actual words this time.

"Mm'yeah." Close enough.

"I'm going to call a cab, alright? I don't think walking is very good right now."

_Whatever you say, honey._

I almost laughed at myself for thinking that, but my stomach told me not to. I wasn't even sure why it was funny.

Looking unclearly in front of me, I could see Kyle with his Blackberry cell phone in its lime green case wedged between his cheek and shoulder, his hands rummaging about in the bag to bring out a small box of something I knew looked familiar.

Gravol.

Ah, what a life saver. I'd swear by these things.

Kyle mouthed the words 'Eat it' to me before speaking to the taxi operator over the phone. He pushed two pills into my mouth and I tilted my head back, swallowing them dry. It kind of hurt, but I didn't want to open the can of delicious coolness until I was good and done with it on my head.

"They'll be here in a bit." Kyle said, obviously done with his phone call and one of his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I hummed and tilted my head to his collarbone, smiling slightly as I heard him hiss at the sudden cold I'd brought with me when the can connected with the slim strip of exposed skin around his neck.

"Want to tell me why you're drinking yourself into an early grave this time?" Kyle inquired, his sentence long and wordy.

He usually asked me this, even though he only got an answer maybe fifty percent of the time. I decided I'd try answering him on this round.

"Life sucks."

"You always say that."

"S'true."

"No, it's not."

Was Kyle arguing with me? How dare he argue with a drunk person, didn't he know he'd never win?

"So true!" I shouted, unintentionally loud and he turned his head away from me at the volume of my voice. "So true." I repeated a bit quieter. "My parents suck. I suck. You suck."

I felt him sigh at that and looked up at him, my eyes barely able to stay open and corrected myself.

"You don't suck, I just suck."

"Stop saying suck." Kyle had clearly had enough of my ranting.

The taxi pulled up and nearly startled me with its bright fucking headlights and Kyle led me into the back seat. He slid in after me and I was relieved when he let me lay against him again. The sick part of me wanted to be babied. The hopeless lover in me wanted to be held by my best friend. Either way, I got what I wanted until we reached my house.

Kyle paid the driver and I felt guilty again. He was paying? Man, I still had money left, he could have just fucking asked me...

I don't remember exactly how we got up into my room, but I'm guessing it had something to do with that spare key Kyle had somehow made to my house without my permission. Not that I was complaining, hell, if anyone was allowed to sneak unannounced into my house, it would be Kyle.

I found myself on my bed, covers collected at my feet and Kyle busying himself about my room. My plastic trash can found its way to the side of my bed near my head. The cold can was opened and after Kyle had left the room (which I certainly did not notice) and him reappearing at my side (which scared the fuck out of me) I felt a straw poking at my lips.

Mmm Ginger Ale. It had never tasted so good. Well, I'm sure it had, but fuck it.

I heard a sigh and looked up at Kyle. The room was dark and I could see the numbers of my digital alarm clock next to my friend reading 2:15 AM. Kyle's face was shaded by the hood and I weakly raised a hand, determined for reasons unknown to tug the hood off his fucking head. This was tough. My fingers couldn't get a grip and Kyle raised an eyebrow at me, but he didn't stop me. Eventually I managed to get the damned thing down, even if it did now sit around his neck like a bulky half-scarf.

Smiling, I heard myself speak and though my voice was raspy and it hurt my throat, it was actual words this time.

"I like your hair."

Kyle adjusted his hood and knelt on the floor by my bed, resting his elbows near me.

"Do you?" He asked. He didn't seem too interested in the conversation and I knew he was humoring me, but that was part of why I loved him so much.

"I do. I woke you up tonight, didn't I?"

Kyle nodded, his eyelids heavy as he relaxed beside my bed.

"M'sorry."

Kyle shook his head and said, "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks."

I meant it. I really did. I reached out with one of my hands to find one of his and gracelessly tried to lace my fingers with his. He held my hand still and ended up doing it himself because I apparently kept missing the right way he wanted to hold hands.

"I love you."

I said this a lot when I was drunk. He never believed me; at least, I don't think he did.

"I know, Stan." Kyle smiled a bit, but it looked sad. I hated making him sad. Stop being sad!

"I really do." I insisted, trying to wipe that depressed look off his face. I even went so far as to roll myself up onto an elbow and look at him properly. My head spun and felt heavy, but I could feel my eyes welling up with tears.

Oh fuck, was I really going to cry? Fucking alcohol, making me into a pussy.

"I really love you." My voice came out in sobs. This was fucking ridiculous.

"Then why do you do this?" Kyle asked and I wondered if he expected a serious answer. I'd give him one if I _had_ a reason.

"I don't know." I was still crying, tears leaking from my eyes and running their way down my cheeks. I didn't even care anymore, emotional drunk seemed to be my thing. "Everything is just messed up."

"Things would sort themselves out better if you stopped drowning in Crown Royal and Jager Bombs long enough to think."

"Jager Bombs are _disgusting_." I spat out. I'd had them before. Jager was the foulest substance known to man, in my opinion, but I'd gotten rather obsessed with Red Bull after my first shot.

"Whatever."

"I can't _think_ about my problems, Ky-Kyle." I stumbled over his name as my tongue apparently decided to give up trying to pronounce L's for a second. "It just makes them worse."

"What are they then? Think about them now, how much worse can things get?" Kyle spoke in a commanding tone of voice and I was rather fucking powerless to refuse him at this stage.

"My fucking parents and their fucking divorce. Everyone fucking knows about it and they keep staring at me like 'oh, there's the poor fucking boy with the messed up parents'." Everything came spilling out and I filled my tearful rant with as much obscenities as I possibly could. I was so fucking angry at things right now and I knew, now that I could focus a tiny bit better thanks to the medication, that it was the alcohol effecting me. All of my emotions were out of control and I couldn't stop fucking crying.

At least I wasn't throwing up, I guess.

"And I _know_ I shouldn't drink because you always have to fucking take care of me and you hate it and you probably hate me. I don't want you to hate me, I fucking _love_ you!"

And I'd rather be throwing up. The look Kyle was giving me wasn't exactly a look of surprise or even of disapproval. It was just kind of...tired. Why was he tired? Hadn't my raised voice woken him up?

Hell, hadn't my raised voice woken up my parents? Were they even here? I was completely derailing at this point.

"Drink."

Kyle's voice and the straw nearly jabbing me right up the nose brought me back and I sipped some more of the carbonated goodness. I watched him put the drink back on my bedside table and he sighed again.

"First off, I don't hate you." Kyle spoke up, his voice firm. "I will never hate you. Second, you won't remember any of this in the morning so to prove I'm fucking serious, I'm going to say it now _and_ write it down for your drunk ass to read in the morning."

I rarely heard Kyle swear, so it was pretty attention grabbing to say the least. Whatever he was going to say next must be important; he usually just enjoyed letting me piece together my night while offering subtle hints, not full out notes.

"I love you too, Stan."

I blinked stupidly for a few seconds, opening my mouth to say god knows what, but he shushed me and continued.

"Why else do you think I fucking put up with this bullshit at two in the morning? I could be asleep, happily ignorant to the fact that you were puking your guts out into a Seven Eleven trash can, but I'm not. I'm here, taking care of you, like I always do." Kyle's voice was getting more and more urgent as he spoke and he almost seemed a little angry. It was frightening and thrilling at the same time.

Kyle squeezed my fingers, still joined with his, and nearly whispered the next bit.

"But sooner or later, I'll stop feeling like that."

My heart lept into my throat and I felt nauseas all of a sudden. Jesus fuck, organs, calm your shit.

"I'm your best friend and that works for what we've got here. I'll always take care of you. But there's no way I'd get myself any more involved with such a fucking train wreck. Loving you hurts, Stan. Seeing you fuck up your life like this hurts." Kyle brought my hand to his chest and even through the sweatshirt, which was pretty thin now that I could touch it, I could feel his heartbeat.

Faint and irregularly fast, Kyle's heart was beating beneath my hand. My whole body seemed to flush with heat from the sheer seriousness of our conversation and I suddenly wished Kyle would just feed me some more Ginger Ale and let me lay down. But my body seemed to have other ideas.

I lurched forward but instead of being sick, I was pushing my lips against Kyle's. His were soft and moist, probably from that fucking chapstick he was always using, and I knew mine were nothing by comparison. I probably tasted fucking disgusting too, but Kyle let me abuse his lips for almost a full minute, though it felt like a fucking eon before he pushed me back.

"I'm sorry." I said, fresh tears dripping onto my bed. Good lord, I was a mess, wasn't I? "I'm sorry, I don't want you to hurt."

Kyle's breath escaped him in a sort of incredulous chuckle and he rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.

"I'm not even drunk and I'm going to cry too, you fucking asshole." He scolded me, but there was no venom to it.

I fell back onto my pillows, letting go of his hand and pressing both my hands over my face, pushing until I could barely breathe. My chest was killing me. Everything hurt, oh sweet christ, I hurt. It was all internal hurt; hurt from my stomach refusing to keep down food, hurt from my heart pounding in my chest from Kyle's words, and hurt from my head as my crying only made my drunk headache worse.

Kyle was trying to keep himself together, I could tell even without looking at him, but the few sobs that did escape him seemed to stab into my ears. How emotional we were. I knew I'd made him cry by being a fucking idiot and I knew I was crying because I was drunk and in love, but it didn't make me hate myself any less for having this breakdown right now.

Kyle calmed down first after what felt like hours. I only noticed because he stood up and left the room for a bit. I thought I'd scared him away, but he returned with a glass of water and was taking small sips from it as he went over to his bag to undoubtedly resume his job as my caretaker. Sure enough, crackers emerged from the bag, and Kyle made his way back to me.

"Here. All the crying's going to force everything back up, you need to eat something."

I nearly inhaled the cracker on the first try as my irregular breathing tried to compensate for all the air I had been expelling with my sobs.

"I'll be right back." Kyle informed me and he left the room again. I tried my best to calm down while he was away. It was at least twenty minutes and 'right back' was ringing in my ears, my thoughts accusing him of lying. I was just being a needy fuck.

Eventually I did calm down and managed to even sit up and down a few of the crackers and put some moisture back into my mouth with the Ginger Ale. Kyle returned with a piece of paper folded up in his hands and he placed it on my bedside table.

"Don't look at it until the morning."

I just nodded.

"You feeling any better?"

I nodded again.

"Want me to stay the night?"

God, was nodding all I could do?

Kyle pushed me gently back down onto my pillows and took the box of crackers, resting them next to the bucket on the floor. He pulled my blankets up over me and tucked me in.

"I'll never drink again." I mumbled and Kyle actually let out a short laugh.

"You've said that before."

"No, I mean it this time." I insisted.

"What makes you think I'll believe you?" Kyle asked quietly.

"Because I love you." I said. I needed to stress this point to him because maybe if I said it enough, he'd let me kiss him again. "I'll do it for you."

"That'd be nice." Kyle breathed out.

"I want to kiss you again."

Well, I guess being direct was just as good. I really had no tact when I was drunk.

"Okay."

Wait, what?

Kyle's lips covered my own, this time by his own initiative, and there were fireworks in my head. I swear. Though that might have just been brain cells dying or the impending migraine the morning would bring. Either way.

I wriggled one of my arms free from the blankets and reached up to tangle my fingers into his hair, keeping him pressed to me and moving my lips slowly against his. Mmm. This was perfect. Except the taste of crackers and alcohol in my mouth, that probably could have used some work. I poked my tongue against his lips and he reluctantly parted them so I could poke around inside his mouth. His tongue briefly slid against mine before he pulled away and made a face.

"Sorry, you still taste a lot like booze." He apologized and I laughed, even though it hurt my head.

"Are you gonna sleep with me?" I asked as he wrestled my arm back under the blankets and stood up.

"No, I'll be on the couch downstairs. I'll have my phone so text me when you wake up and I'll come up and see you." Kyle said, gathering up his nearly empty shoulder bag and stopping only to give me a kiss on my forehead before leaving the room. "Goodnight, Stan."

"Night." I murmured, squeezing my eyes shut against the pounding in my head and chest. I don't know when exactly I fell asleep, but it happened before the sun was up at least. I was pretty worn out from all the alcohol...and crying. Ugh.

0

As anticipated, the morning came with dire consequences. Oh how everything hurt. Fuck my life. I writhed in bed, groaning and whimpering against the painfully empty and yet still nauseas stomach of mine and the splitting headache to boot. If anyone had not known I was sick, this might have proven a bit awkward with the sounds I was making, but my parents and Kyle all knew these were moans of misery.

That was, if my parents were even in the fucking house.

I remembered Kyle's comment about having his phone and miserably slid my phone off the bedside table and under the covers with me. I sent him a quick text to let him know I was awake and continued wallowing in hungover hell. I didn't remember a whole bunch about what had gone on last night but the pieces I did remember were fucking terrible.

Corner store trash can. Cuddling Kyle's sweatshirt in the taxi. Crying a lot and making Kyle cry. Something about a note and texts. Oh yeah. A note.

I looked around to see where Kyle might have put it and spotted it on the table my phone had been on. I seriously hadn't even realized it was right fucking there. And how did my phone end up on the table? Last I remember was when I'd texted Kyle at the bar. I'd sincerely thought I'd left it at the fucking bar...

Whatever. My eyes could barely focus on the writing Kyle had done, but I did my best to read. Luckily it was short.

_Stan,_

_I love you too._

_You're a fucking idiot though._

What the fuck? Kyle loved me? I tried to remember what exactly had happened, but when I did, the impact caused my stomach to heave again and I scrabbled for the trash can.

"Still sick, I see." Kyle's voice caused me to dry heave a few more times and his hand on my back didn't help at all.

I'd remembered parts of it. Namely me crying and telling Kyle I loved him. And then the image of me kissing my best fucking friend. I rocked forwards a few more times with the sickness. I was such a fucking idiot. His note made perfect sense.

"I'm sorry." I rasped out, my throat dry and sore.

"For?" Kyle inquired.

I could barely get it out, but I managed to whisper, "For kissing you."

Kyle was silent for a moment and his hand disappeared from my back. What was wrong? Did I offend him or something?

"You seemed like you wanted it pretty bad last night." His voice was almost cold. Had I_ really_ offended him?

I guess I should have paid more attention to the first half of Kyle's note. I could have fucking slapped myself for being such an idiot.

"No, sorry. I'm sorry for apologizing, I didn't mean it like that."

"Stop saying you're sorry." Kyle sighed. I was making him do that a lot.

"So you really love me, huh?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes."

Mmm. I would have been happier had I not been so hungover.

"Does that mean...if I asked..." Kyle interrupted me before I could finish and said, "I won't go out with you."

Heart. Hurt. Ow.

"Why not?" I whined pathetically, still hugging the plastic can to my chest on the bed.

"Because look at yourself." Kyle huffed. "I'm not dating this."

"I'll change!" I might have replied a little quickly, but Kyle just smiled at me.

His smile was gorgeous.

"You said that last night too." Kyle said. "Not exactly in those words, but you said you'd stop drinking for me."

"I will." I declared.

"That'd be nice." Kyle's voice had gotten really low and I vaguely remembered him saying that last night. "It wouldn't be easy for you, Stan."

"I don't care."

"You don't now because you're hungover. When you sober up, you'll be back to drinking."

"Not if you're with me!"

"I'm always with you, Stan."

"No!" I was raising my voice and sincerely hoped to whatever deities might exist that my parents weren't home right now. "I mean with me like my fucking boyfriend!"

Kyle stared at me for a second before laughing. He was laughing at me. That jerk!

But soon enough, that jerk had turned my head towards him and was kissing me. Mmm. At least no real vomit had come up this time because I would have felt really bad for that being the first thing Kyle tasted this morning, but he didn't seem to mind, poking his tongue past my lips and causing my brain to short circuit.

I was fucking melting to his kiss and just when I thought I'd literally begun to super heat, Kyle pulled away. I whimpered. I fucking whimpered at the lack of his lips and he just smiled and gave me a quick peck on my bottom lip.

"If, and I say a very firm if, you can change and prove to me that you won't drink like this anymore, I'll consider it." Kyle's voice saying those words was like magic to me.

"I'll fucking prove it." I stated.

And I fucking meant it. Right after this hangover passed.

I'll be honest and say that was the last we spoke of it for a while. Kyle took care of me for the rest of the day and I must have fucking slept for another three hours at least. My mom came home briefly and Kyle handled talking to her while I ignored the fact that I even had parents. When Kyle came upstairs, he came up with flowers. Apparently my mom had felt bad. And decided to buy her son flowers.

Why?

Whatever.

All I cared about was proving to Kyle that I was fit to be his significant other. Which is sad in itself. It would be hard. But...life was hard, remember? At least I knew was that problem one was being worked on.

Kyle was fucking worth it.

00000

**Author's Note:**

A little random piece I wrote at probably 2 am a few weeks ago.

I wasn't going to post it at first, but I figured "Why write something if you're not going to post it?"

I feel a little bad that I made Stan a sobbing mess, but I'm sure he'll forgive me since he got what he wanted in my other stories, hahaha :)


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